Regrets
by Ebony10
Summary: Red John brings out the dark side of Patrick Jane. Will he lose everything once more in his pursuit for revenge? Dark/angsty, but will be a friendship fic between Jane and Lisbon in the end. Inspired by the preview for the season finale.
1. Threats

Okay, so I can't remember the exact words from the promo, but this is spawned from the preview for the season finale so maybe slight spoilers. Also, be ready to be upset with Jane. This is showing that side of him that is not often seen. In fact, maybe a side of him never quite seen before at all. Probably the end will be uplifting because depression is not fun. It will likely turn into a friendship fic between Lisbon and Jane. Grr, I'm feeling bitter about Jane right now.

Don't own 'em. Sorry it's so long. And also sorry in advance because I don't have the next part written yet. I'll get on that.

Regrets

Chapter One: Threats

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"You try to stand in my way, you will regret it."

"Are you threatening me?"

Lisbon and Jane locked gazes, neither willing to give in to the other. The team froze, almost scared to move, holding their breaths. Jane didn't answer, but Lisbon's eyes read him easily for once. She didn't like what she saw. She turned from him to address her team as if the tense exchange had never happened.

"Cho, take Rigsby and Van Pelt to question the parents. Jane and I are going to check out the address found on the paper by the body."

She turned to head to the door, only to be stopped by Jane's voice.

"I'm going with Cho. Van Pelt can go with you, Lisbon."

She just _knew_ he did not just do that. She slowly turned around. Sure, she had been lenient with him, often letting him have his way, but this was too far. "No, Jane. You are going with me."

He put his hands in his pockets and attempted to give her a cajoling smile. He couldn't pull it off. His emotions were too close to the surface to hide under his normal mask. "Lisbon, the address is stupid. Meaningless. Written in the victim's own handwriting. Red John always types his messages and they are always from him—not via a third party."

"I'm not asking, Jane. I'm telling. Either you go with me or you stay here." She turned to the other three agents. "I'm not playing around. If I find out that any of you allowed him entrance with you, you will all be written up."

The team remained silent. Though Jane and Lisbon often contrasted in viewpoint and approach, they had never so openly clashed. She continued, addressing Jane again. "I am not endangering my agents because of your vendetta. You are a liability and a danger to this team in this investigation. If anyone is exposed to that, it will be me and me alone."

Jane didn't answer for a moment, his gaze smoldering. "Don't be silly, Lisbon. Of course you guys aren't in danger because of me."

Her expression didn't change, remaining stony. "If today has taught me anything, it's that I should have always followed my instincts with you."

The stillness in the air was broken as Cho ushered the other two agents out the door, leaving Jane and Lisbon relatively alone. Jane spoke first. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I was right not to trust you and you were wrong to tell me that I could. For once, the great Patrick Jane was wrong." She reached into her pocket to pull out her keys, ignoring the slightly hurt look on his face. His earlier line—no, _threat_, she told herself—had taken away any right he had to be hurt by her lack of trust in him. "Are you coming with me or not?"

He hesitated only briefly before nodding. He was on her heels as she left the building. In the car, Lisbon felt no need to make conversation and his efforts were half-hearted, as if he were discouraged that she hadn't simply forgotten his words earlier. He had thought she knew his plans, his intentions concerning Red John. Didn't she understand that he couldn't let anyone get in his way? Even so, he was not a liability to the team. They just shouldn't interfere in his hunt for Red John.

Lisbon, for her part, was berating herself for ever allowing Jane under her skin. Sure she may not have trusted him personally, but she had always thought that when it came down to it, he would have her back like she had his. She had foolishly allowed herself to believe his words—standing on the dirt among the trees, the smell of strawberries and apples between them, the intensity of his gaze.

"_No matter what happens, I will be there for you."_

Well, she was done. She would rely on herself and certainly not Patrick Jane.

******************************************************************

When they reached the location, Lisbon parked the car. "Stay close, Jane."

If he didn't think this were a dead end, he would be irritated. She just wanted him on a tether so she could impede on his revenge. As it was, he just rolled his eyes. Ooh, an abandoned building. How terrifying.

Lisbon saw it first and he felt the unnatural stillness in her. Peeking around her shoulder, he froze. Tacked to the door was a type-written note welcoming them.

From Red John.

In that moment, Jane knew that he had been wrong. Red John had changed his MO. He was taunting Jane.

Red John was here. Jane knew it.

Jane could practically feel his blood rush in his veins—not warm with rage as he would have expected, but suddenly cold. Lisbon would never let him go in there. He had to get her out of the way because she was definitely not going to step back willingly.

She never felt his hand brush the fabric of her coat as he reached into her pocket. Pulling her gun, she issued an order. "Jane, you stay here. I'll clear the building first."

Receiving no answer, she turned to see his expression. She felt a jolt through her body and a sharp pain concentrated in her back before she succumbed to the blackness.

Jane looked down at Lisbon's body and tenderly moved her to rest against the wall beside the door. She should really be more observant. If _Jane_ could lift her taser, then the likelihood that suspects would do the same was pretty high. He felt a moment's regret as he looked down at her, but pushed it away.

He had to get Red John. He had to make him pay.

Leaving Lisbon, he headed into the decrepit building. It took an agonizing fifteen minutes to sweep through it, searching, until he ended up on the roof.

Empty. As he turned to retrace his steps, he noticed something fluttering on the periphery of his gaze. Moving closer, he saw that it was a note—similar to the one on the door of the building. He felt dread well inside of him as he stepped ever closer. A sense of deja vu washed over his body. He broke into a cold sweat. One that he hadn't felt in over five years.

Since the day that a note like this one welcomed him home to the slaughtered bodies of his wife and child.

Hand shaking, afraid of what he would read, he reached out to smooth the paper down and hold it still against the wind.

_Mr. Jane,_

_Nice co-workers you have. They certainly trust you, don't they? But they don't know you like I do._

_Sad for them._

_Red John_

It was accompanied by the dreaded smiley.

Jane's hand fisted. Red John was not here. He had escaped vengeance—escaped Jane—again.

Reading the message over again, Jane tensed as realization hit him. "Shit!"

Bolting to the door of the roof, he clambered down the stairs without his normal ease or grace. He needed to get to Lisbon. She was defenseless down there, unconscious. Reaching the first floor, he stopped abruptly. Rather than outside where he left her, Lisbon was inside. Leaning back against the door. Even from his spot ten feet away, Jane could see the smiley face carved into her cheek, blood moving slowly in a path to her neck.

His breath caught and he felt a bit sick. He had done this. Left her there. Looking back, he thought he may have done it again if it meant getting Red John and he wondered what kind of person that made him. Finally gathering his senses, he rushed to her side and took a quick inventory of her condition. Still unconscious, but she seemed fine besides the chilling mutilation of her cheek. To be on the safe side, he called an ambulance and then Cho.

Sighing, he collapsed on the floor beside his boss and dropped his head into his hands. He knew Red John was long gone from the premises. Jane had missed his chance. Something nagged at his mind—why this building?

Maybe the killer _did_ know him. Very well. Knew the lengths he'd go to for revenge. Jane's gaze meandered over Lisbon's face, seeing the blood-red smile of Red John's mark looking back. His fists clenched.

He would kill that bastard. No matter what.

************************************************************************

Lisbon had been fine aside from some disorientation and minor stitches on her cheek. The cuts had been shallow. It was possible that it would scar, but with the right care it would likely fade away to nothing.

At the moment, Jane was standing stoically in front of Minelli.

"Lisbon says she doesn't know who tasered her." The man's eyes shrewdly took in the consultant's pose. "I'm not stupid, Jane, but if she wants to protect you then that's her business. But if you ever leave any of my agents at the mercy of a serial killer again, you are out. End of story."

Jane nodded curtly and left without waiting for a dismissal. He was on edge and any provocation could prove too much. Passing his coworkers' desks, he distantly noted that Lisbon was moving around in her office. He wondered if he should go talk to her. Before that thought could go any further, Van Pelt was suddenly in his face.

"Your wife would be ashamed of you."

Her quiet, venomous words and the mention of his dead wife took him by surprise at first—they were so unlike the gentle agent he knew. He gazed at her, allowing some of his turmoil to show through in his eyes. She was unmoved. Unlike the other times when she mentioned his family, there was no apology forthcoming.

"Lisbon trusted you. And you treated her like she was nothing. You don't care if you ruin her career by compromising her position as a cop. You don't care if you hurt her. You don't care what happens to her as long as you get your precious revenge." Van Pelt's words were speeding up as she continued, clearly upset. Jane was, too, but he refused to show it.

"Van Pelt!"

Lisbon's voice rang across the bullpen and Van Pelt jumped almost guiltily. She looked over to her boss. "My office. Now."

Jane stood, unmoving, as his young colleague followed the orders. When he could finally bring himself to look around, he saw an uncomfortable, but hostile Rigsby and a stone-faced Cho—though that was not out of the ordinary. For a moment, Jane felt a glimmer of hope. Cho had always understood his need for revenge, had always supported it. He had notified Jane when they had thought that copycat was Red John. He had advocated helping Jane when the consultant had 'resigned.'

Maybe he would understand. Maybe Cho would see that Jane had done what he needed to in order to get closer to Red John. His hopes were dashed by the man's words.

"I was wrong about you."

Nothing more. No elaboration. But Jane knew. In the team's eyes, what he had done was unforgivable. When Van Pelt came out of Lisbon's office, she looked shell-shocked. In a normal situation, Jane would have immediately tried to figure out what was going on, what in Lisbon's office had caused that expression—he had a tireless curiosity for all things Lisbon.

But it was clear that his probing would not be welcome. And in that moment, Jane really felt the consequences of his actions.

It was not a pleasant feeling.

***********************************************************************

"Cho, Rigsby. My office, please."

From his position on the couch, Jane tensed. Was Lisbon relaying information on the case? Could she be deliberately trying to keep him out of the loop? As some sort of punishment, he supposed.

He lay still, waiting for the two agents to leave her office so he could confront her. Injury or not, he wasn't going to let her push him out of the investigation. This was _his_ case. Red John was _his_ prey. End of story.

But the minute Cho and Rigsby exited her office wearing much the same face that Van Pelt had, Lisbon was heading toward Minelli's office, leaving no time for Jane to follow. He debated asking the team what Lisbon had told them, but he could feel the aggression rolling off them. Jane sat up, leaning his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands under his chin.

One by one, the rest of the team gathered their belongings and left without a word to the consultant. Gone was the easy camaraderie. Funny. Jane had thought he'd be able to easily give up everything in his pursuit for his family's killer. So what was that pang in his chest?

By the time Lisbon came out of Minelli's office, shoulders slumped tiredly, the sky outside was darkening. Jane couldn't help likening it to what he felt inside. He wondered what would happen if the darkness chased the light away completely. He scrubbed his hands over his face. Maybe his wife really would be ashamed of him. He shook the thought off.

She couldn't be ashamed. She was dead. Her life snuffed out like the fragile flame of a candle. Resolutely, he stood. Lisbon was going to tell him what was happening on the case. Whether she wanted to or not.

He entered her office, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. Lisbon sat behind her desk, pensively watching the setting sun out her window and unknowingly presenting her bandaged cheek to him. He ignored the glaring white bandage that seemed to be reproaching him as he sat down in a chair across from her.

"I know something's going on. Is it the case? If you're trying to hide something, don't bother. I will find out. I promise you that. I'm not going to let you stand in my way," he said calmly. He felt something tighten and stretch inside his chest, but again paid no heed. He was doing what needed to be done.

"Oh, don't worry about that, Jane." She laughed self-deprecatingly, almost bitter. He frowned slightly. "I'm not hiding anything about the case from you."

She turned to face him and he almost flinched at the coldness in her eyes. This was an expression that she saved for suspects, for criminals, for those she didn't deem worthy of her trust or geniality. He was not used to being in that category. He was ready for her anger, for her sadness, her betrayal, pity, anything. Anything except for her removal.

No, he couldn't think that way.

He struggled to find his footing. If they weren't talking about the Red John case, then he wasn't sure where to go from here. Normally, conversation was not an issue. But today, things had changed. He felt the irritating need to apologize for leaving her at that psycho's mercy.

"I—earlier, well…" he trailed off before starting again. "I'm sorry that you were hurt."

She watched him for a moment. He didn't squirm and the stillness in the room was almost suffocating. "But you're not sorry that you did it."

He didn't answer. Honestly, he didn't know what his response would be. She continued. "You're sorry that I got hurt, but you're not sorry that it was due to your actions. So, Jane, how does that work? All part of your quest for revenge? Interesting that you want to kill this man for hurting innocent people—people who never had anything to do with him except through knowing you—and yet you are just as willing to step on those in your way."

He opened his mouth, feeling indignant. It wasn't like that…

She didn't let him finish. "I'm done. I'm transferring to another team."

Of all the ways he could have expected this conversation to go, that was not one of them. His hands tightened on the armrests of the chair, knuckles turning white.

"For at least the next month, I will be senior agent of a team in narcotics. I want off this case. I don't want to be watching my back, wondering if one of my own is going to cost me my job or my life." Her words were calm, resigned. Again, he felt nauseous. "Cho and the rest are sticking with the case on my recommendation. I know it would hinder investigation if an entirely new team was to be assigned and that is the last thing I want. There are a lot of people who deserve justice."

He still couldn't get any words out. Lisbon waited a beat, giving him an opening to speak, but still nothing.

"The team will treat you with the utmost respect. My last orders. It's not your fault that we were building you into someone that you're not." She began sweeping things into her bag. "Our mistake."

She stood and as she opened the door, he finally forced words through his lips. "I wish things were different."

She didn't turn around. "If you hurt them, Jane, if you even let one hair on their heads be harmed, I will find you and make sure you are locked away and you'll never have your revenge."

Here she turned her head and looked him in the eyes. "How's that for a threat?"

Then she was gone. And for the first time, Jane wondered when he'd see her again and how things had spiraled so out of control.


	2. Old Friends

Thanks for all of the support. I was surprised by how many people said they could see this type of scenario going down. Here is chapter two—there is still more to come. Just so you know, I'm not exactly following the case mentioned in the preview nor is this based completely off the preview. Just those lines that started chapter one. Thanks to Kathi-Ann for her pre-reading to make sure this isn't a complete waste of your time as readers! : ) [and I mean that smile in a totally non-creepy, non-Red John sort of way]

Chapter Two: Old Friends

*****************************************************************

The week had been hell.

Jane hadn't realized how much he relied on the team. Until suddenly they weren't a team anymore. There was a somber quality in the air during work hours. No more Lisbon—she had transferred to her new team earlier that week—no more joking, no more 'magic tricks,' no more confiding in one another.

Nothing. Empty.

Jane was surprised at how much he missed it. He had told himself he wouldn't miss anything besides his wife and child. He wouldn't get attached. He was living only for revenge. But five years (almost six now) was a long time. And he wondered if he should feel like he betrayed his dead family because he was feeling something very much like regret. Not regret at their precious lives being cut short, though he did feel that. Everyday he felt that. But rather regret at hurting this small group of wonderful people.

He had never asked them to care. He had been upfront about his plans for Red John. Okay, maybe he had been more honest with Lisbon than with the rest of the team, but still. They had to know.

But he could admit that he had not pushed them away. He had seen them getting closer and closer and he had not stopped them. To be honest, he had missed feeling tethered to the world. His wife had always brought him back down to earth when he was drifting too far away, getting too caught up in the glamorous world of being a psychic. When he had finally been released from the hospital after his breakdown, he hadn't felt 'cured.' He hadn't felt better. He had felt as if he was drifting off slowly and no one could see him fade away or hear his silent cry for help. As the days grew to weeks, he had wondered if he had simply tricked them into signing his release papers. After all, he was nothing if not the consummate con artist. But no matter what, he was not going back. Back to the pristine white walls that seemed to be empty canvases upon which his mind could project bloody faces—that _psycho's_gruesome work.

He had worked his way into the CBI, giving himself something to fill his days and getting a step closer to finding his family's killer. Always the ulterior motive. He had gone through team after team, finding that none could match him in wit or intelligence and that, more often than not, he made each of them uneasy.

Until he had been assigned to Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon's team. Suddenly, it had clicked. With them, he found something that pulled him back when he got too far away. Lisbon put up with nothing and she sure made him work for everything. Nothing was a free ride. And as a whole, the team was this close-knit, friendly, caring unit and they had fit him in with only minor trouble. He had let them. He had wanted to fit in, wanted to feel that tether once more.

So he suspected that he really _was_ to blame. Sure, they may have built him into something he wasn't, but he had helped. Maybe he had been tired of who he was, scared of who he was.

He wondered if his wife would even recognize him anymore. If she could look into his eyes and see the same Patrick Jane that she had married. If she could see him and still love him, not be scared by him.

Would she be ashamed?

The new Senior Agent was forthcoming with case information. He valued Jane's input and allowed Jane access to every step of the investigation. Yet something didn't feel right anymore. There was no give and take. No need to justify, to prove. No challenge. True to Lisbon's word, Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt had been polite. Almost insultingly so, but Jane couldn't complain. He was who he was. Even if he knew it hurt them.

So though he was probably as step closer to finding Red John, he had never felt farther away from humanity. He supposed that could be a good thing—nothing to hamper him in his goal. To make Red John bleed the way his family had bled. The way his heart had bled for years, _still_ bled.

Was that so wrong? To want to hurt someone so evil. How could he be wrong in wanting that?

He headed for the break room, intent on making some tea. Anything to make life feel more normal. He ignored the glares and curious stares of the other teams he passed on the way. By now, they had all heard what had happened to Lisbon. No one knew his role in it, but they knew that Lisbon was marked.

She was the only one to live through a run in with Red John. And all at the mercy—he almost snorted aloud at that; yeah, right, _mercy—_of the crazed killer. Holding his tea as if it were a lifeline, he made his way back to the couch, gaze on the warm liquid in his cup. He sensed someone in front of him, blocking his passage in the narrow hallway and looked up. He froze.

Lisbon.

She looked as paralyzed as he felt. He opened his mouth. Closed it again. God, he had never felt so out of his league. He didn't know what to do, what to say to her. He settled on something easy. "Hi."

She flinched slightly at his greeting. In the silence that pursued, he allowed his gaze to drift over her. The bandage was gone from her cheek, leaving the red angry marks from Red John's blade visible. He really hoped that it wouldn't scar. He didn't know what he'd do if it did.

Not that he'd be seeing her much anyway. The team held out hope that she'd come back in a month, that the transfer wasn't permanent, but Jane wasn't sure that was a possibility. They hadn't seen the way green turned to ice, the way she had looked at him the last time they talked. The way she had left.

"Jane," she finally responded, noncommittal. Her voice was distant and in another time he would have teased out the emotion, prodded her fiery temper or playful nature.

But it wasn't then. It was now.

He moved forward to brush by her and she quickly retreated against the wall, seemingly anxious to avoid any contact with him whatsoever. He smiled a bit sadly. He guessed that he deserved her suspicion. After all, look what had happened the last time he had brushed against her.

He sat down on the couch, sipping his tea and wondering what she was doing in this wing of the office. Narcotics was on the second floor. Purveying the ceiling, he figured it was probably some more unfinished paperwork, unsigned documents. She had been lead in Serious Crimes for a long time. One couldn't turn that around in less than a week.

He heard the distinct pattern of her footsteps not even five minutes later. She didn't stop, didn't pop in to talk to the team. He only glimpsed her figure for a few seconds as she passed the doorway and continued down the hallway.

He sighed as he finally allowed himself to admit the truth, even if only in his thoughts.

He missed her. He missed the team.

Ah, why was living so difficult?

********************************************************************

Another week passed and Jane found himself contemplating the incident at the warehouse more and more. It had to mean something. It was completely unlike Red John. It had to be a message, but what?

The team had noticed Jane getting increasingly distant. He was easily agitated. He stared into space for hours, let his tea go cold (something that he had _never_ allowed before), didn't even pretend to sleep, and would intermittently laugh and look close to tears. They began to wish that he would just cry. Anything but the hysteria that lurked beneath his mirthless laugh.

Before, they would have tried to take his mind off the case. Would have talked to Lisbon, had her get under his cracks. Have her figure out what was wrong.

But Lisbon was gone. And it was his own fault. So even though they were bitter and disappointed in both him and their own sense of judgment, they found that they still worried. It wasn't as easy as they had thought to cut him out of their feelings. And they sometimes felt the urge to talk to him, even a little comment on the weather. A small snide remark on a less than intelligent witness that would surely be met with amusement.

They ruthlessly squelched those urges. It was different now. Lisbon was gone and it was definitely not 'before.' Jane distantly thought that he should find it interesting how the Serious Crimes Unit categorized everything now into before and after.

'Before' he had hung Lisbon out to dry and 'after' she had left them.

So, he sat on the couch. Sometimes went over anonymous tips. Talked with the new senior agent about possibilities. But mostly he thought about that day. The empty warehouse and unconscious Lisbon.

What did it mean?

His thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of an unknown man. Said subject looked around searchingly. Jane stood when it was clear that his colleagues were going to ignore the stranger. He tried to smile charmingly and wondered if it worked. Lately, he thought that his smile was broken. Nothing seemed to be working since Lisbon left. "May I help you?"

The stranger perked up a bit. "Yeah. I'm looking for an Agent Lisbon. I have an urgent message for her that was left at the front."

At the mention of Lisbon's name, the team practically twitched in unison, tuning into the conversation. Jane's brow furrowed. "She's not in this department. She's in Narcotics now."

"Yes, that's what we thought, but this message was quite insistent that she was with Serious Crimes." The man shrugged and turned around. "Oh well, thanks anyway. I'll head over to Narcotics."

Cho spoke up, surprising everyone. "She's not there right now. She's on a bust in Meadowview, South Sac."

Jane looked at him for a moment. So Cho was still on close terms with Lisbon. Well, at least she still had some form of support.

"Thanks, man. We'll wait til she gets back, then."

Again he turned to leave only to be stopped by Jane this time. "Did the person happen to leave a name with you?"

"Yeah, actually he did. Said he was an old friend. Dr. Joe from New Hampshire."


	3. Different

So this is the first Red John fic I've ever written (or even considered writing). I had actually 'vowed' not to write one, but of course. Look what happens. sigh. Ah, the muses have a cruel irony. By the way, Dr. Joe-NH was from an episode of The Mentalist. It was actually Red John communicating with the team via instant message (if you rearrange Dr. Joe-NH, the letters become Red John). So Dr. Joe is Red John. Just wanted to clear that up.

We see a bit of a breakthrough in this chapter (a breakdown, too, actually). Not sure if I've succeeded in keeping them in character or even realistic, but this is a rather difficult story to write. There is a slight homage to Harry Potter. ; )

Thanks, Kathi-Ann! And to all the reviewers as well!

Chapter Three: Different

*******************************************************************************

The poor man with Lisbon's message didn't have any warning before he was surrounded by three agents and a consultant. Though he couldn't make out all of what they were saying (it was unbelievable just how loud and chaotic four adults speaking at once could be), he got the meaning loud and clear.

They wanted Lisbon's message and they wanted it now.

"Whoa, guys. Calm down." He took a step away from them. "I'm not supposed to give out personal messages."

Jane's intense concentration centered on him. "The only thing personal about that letter is the fact that it is from the man who attacked her."

"R—Red John?" He didn't ask how they knew that the letter was from the serial killer. He just silently handed it over, wondering a bit at the resentful gazes focused on the blond man. He started to back away, not so sure that he wanted to hear what the message said. He stopped mid-step from the austere countenance of one of the agents.

"We'll probably need to question you and your colleagues later today," Cho warned. The man nodded before fleeing down the hall, certain now that he didn't want to know anything connected to the killer known as Red John. Jane opened the paper and the team hovered around him, simultaneously wanting to crowd in to read it and feeling the need for space from him.

Their new boss was away for a few hours and, for a moment, Van Pelt allowed herself to pretend that it was a normal day. That Lisbon was out grabbing a coffee and the team was pursuing a lead for her. That Jane wasn't the ruthless person he had shown himself to be, but rather the damaged, quirky friend she had grown to think she understood. The consultant who could be cold and brutally honest—in a way that she had always thought covered the depth of his feelings, the way he cared about people.

The tense set in the shoulders of Rigsby and Cho popped her small daydream, bringing her back to reality. A reality where Jane didn't care. Not about 'people' in general and not about them. Suddenly she felt cold and tired.

Jane was staring at the paper, silent. Cho's frustration burst out in his usual monotone, but Jane knew him well. Knew that he was practically chomping at the bit. "Read it out loud, Jane."

Jane cleared his throat.

"_Agent Lisbon:_

_Pleasure making your acquaintance. All this time leading the investigation on my case and yet I've heard so little about you. Of course, it must be hard to share any of the spotlight with the egotistical Patrick Jane. I'm sure by now you have discovered the man under the mask._

_We're not so different, he and I._

_Does that scare you?_

_I left you that little memento so that you could anticipate our next meeting and enjoy it as much as I will. Perhaps we'll play our own version of chess—if you aren't already a piece in another man's game. Strange how pawns never receive their due. Pity. They are usually the most fun. And rewarding._

_Red John."_

There was silence for a moment. There was no question in the team's minds—Red John was alluding to Lisbon being merely a pawn in Jane's grand game. As for Jane, he couldn't keep his eyes off the smiley scribbled on the typewritten letter. Were they alike? He and his family's killer?

He wondered if he should invest in a bottle of Tums. It seemed that lately his stomach had been feeling upset more and more. He wondered if stomach bile could be connected to a suppressed conscience in some sort of sick, karmic retribution.

Rigsby, surprising them all, gently took the letter from Jane's hands and put it in a plastic bag. His own gloved hands gingerly sealed the bag. He looked up. "Too many people have touched it already, but it's worth a try."

No one mentioned that there had never been any sort of evidence left by Red John through his communication. Red John was thorough. The letter, playing on Lisbon's distrust of her subordinate (they could only assume that Red John thought Lisbon was still on the case), had a threatening quality that set them on edge. Cho took the reins.

"Good idea, Rigsby. Bring it to forensics. Van Pelt, check the security footage for the front desk. Jane, you're with me." Jane nodded as the other two burst into action. Following Cho down the hallway to the front of the building, he analyzed the day's events. This new interest in Lisbon was intriguing. A part of Jane was indeed disturbed by the possible danger this represented for his former (the word felt bitter, even on his mind's tongue) boss. But another, more calculating part wondered how this changed things.

Because it did. Red John was changing his MO and changes meant a period of instability. Changes always rocked the boat. And Jane was prepared to do anything to keep it rocking, roiling in waves, so that he could find a chink in the sturdy wall separating him from Red John.

Questioning the people at the front (which included the man who had brought the message) did not bring forth any new information. The letter had been delivered by a passerby, a woman—someone likely recruited by Red John. Someone who had just run in, relayed both letter and recipient, adamant about the instructed department. One of the guys at the front desk mentioned the possibility that it was Red John himself, or in this case herself, but Jane knew in his gut that Red John would not place himself at risk to deliver a simple, taunting letter. Too much risk, not enough retribution. And Jane seriously doubted that Red John was a woman.

If he were wrong, then he would have to doubt all of the other cases that his hunches had solved. And there was no way that was happening.

Jane had started to zone out once more as Cho finished up the questioning when there was a flurry of action and kevlar-suited men rushed past them toward the door. He noticed the way Cho glanced at them and then did a double take, calling out in an urgent voice.

"Johnson! Where's the fire?"

One of the men skidded to a halt and answered quickly. "The bust in South Sac went haywire. Shots have been fired and there's been at least one explosion. Gotta run. Sorry, man."

And then he was gone, following his co-members out the door into the hot sun. Jane could sense that Cho wanted to run after them, to join them. The South Sac bust was where Lisbon was. In a detached way, Jane thought it would be ironic if Lisbon were to die at the hands of some druggies when she had held company with a sociopathic murderer and emerged from the situation breathing.

As if from the end of a long tunnel, Jane heard Cho questioning the desk clerks, searching for the radio channel that the Narcotics backup team was using. Lots of orders and crackling static, but a few words discernible here and there.

"_...agent down..."_

"_...female, mid-thirties..."_

The tunnel seemed to be getting longer and the static-covered voices quieter. The world smaller, shrinking in on Jane. Logically he knew that there were plenty of female agents around the age of thirty-five. Somehow, logic had been evading his grasp in the last few days. He thought back once more to the day the doctors, Sophie, had released him. He must have tricked them. This didn't feel right. Didn't feel normal.

He felt much he same as he had in the weeks following his discovery of his fragile and broken family, bodies covered in a delicate red.

He didn't even feel it when Cho guided him down the hall to his couch, calling his name.

The team had never seen Jane like this. Catatonic. It was then that they truly realized what victims' families must feel like to see a body so lifeless, so devoid of its normal personality. The man on the couch was Jane in features, but that was where it ended. There was nothing of the man they had known—ruthless or not—left. He just looked...empty. Empty and fragile. As if he were made of the most delicate wisps of silk that would crumble with as little as a breath brushing across the surface.

Van Pelt couldn't keep herself from hovering nearby, hands fluttering helplessly. She looked up to Cho "What..."

She trailed off, not quite knowing what to ask. Rigsby entered, back from forensics. One glance at the room and he turned bewildered eyes to Cho, who took a step back from the couch, from Jane.

"Lisbon's hit went south. She may have been injured or..." This time he trailed off. Van Pelt's fluttering hands went to her mouth as if to hold in a gasp that didn't escape. It was as if her breath had been stolen. This wasn't the way things were supposed to be. Rigsby turned away and just barely caught himself before slamming his fist into his desktop. Though he hadn't thought it possible to still worry about Jane, he was sure violence and noise wouldn't help the man at the moment.

He looked shattered. Or shatterable. Rigsby couldn't decide which fit better.

After a moment to collect themselves, they turned to Jane, finding him to be unresponsive still.

"What should we do?"

It seemed to be a question about Jane. A question about Lisbon. About their situation. About everything and nothing at once.

And still, with all the choices for the application of Van Pelt's question, none of them could think of an answer.

***************************************************************************

Aside from some bumps and bruises, Lisbon was fine. She gingerly rotated her shoulder on the way into CBI headquarters, frowning at the tenderness in her muscles. It had been a long time since she was in on such an active bust. A bit different from tackling unruly suspects. And while she liked the members of her new team, she couldn't help but miss the team that had been as close to family as anyone had ever gotten with her.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a ruthless voice taunted her. How like her to have a 'family' that would put her in harm's way. So reminiscent of her past, of her father.

No, that wasn't fair. Jane was the only one who had done so. And, like her father, he didn't even realize that his actions were wrong. Was she destined to care about people who cared about her only until she got in the way of their desires?

Her body felt drained and she tried to convince herself that it was because of the workout she had received at the drug bust. She had almost succeeded when she was stopped by Cho's voice.

"Lisbon."

Though he had no inflection, as usual, she knew. She just _knew_ that something was wrong. Feeling an uneasy knot in her stomach, she turned to face her most trusted confidant. Even Jane's betrayal could not take away the trust she felt for this man. She refused to doubt her judgment because of her former consultant.

"What's wrong, Cho?"

He hesitated and she knew it was about Jane. She cursed herself for feeling an instant worry even as she spoke. "What happened? Is he okay?"

She wanted to say: Is he alive? In custody of the CBI? What?

She wondered if he had gotten his revenge. She had pointedly stayed out of the gossip relating to the SCU and the Red John case. One slip and she was afraid she would fall prey to curiosity. To her own lack of judgment when it came to Jane. As they headed toward what used to be her domain, Cho filled her in. Told her about the letter, about the scare with her drug hit. About Jane's withdrawal and his lack of response to anyone. They were minutes away from calling the professionals. They hadn't yet decided if those professionals would be paramedics or psychiatrists.

Lisbon swallowed hard. Of the team, she was the only one who knew his history with psychiatrists—aside from his dislike of most of them. She didn't know if she could bear to see Jane locked in a sterile cell. No matter what he had done to her.

His personality had always seemed too big to confine. She supposed it was part of the reason she let him get away with so many shenanigans. Probably why so many people let him get away with those escapades—how does one constrict the wind? That is what he had often reminded her of. The wind: sometimes a blistering cold, sometimes hot. Gentle and soft in one moment, forceful and unforgiving in another.

But the sight that greeted her was none of those. That was _not_ Jane on his couch. Couldn't be. Sighing, she signaled for the team to give them privacy. She knew that they wouldn't let anyone pass.

As she slowly approached him, she wondered why she was even bothering.

This man had incapacitated her, left her as helpless as a child on the premises of a building that likely hid a man who slaughtered women as if he were readying chicken for the grill. He had threatened her, betrayed her trust, and turned her life upside down.

In fact, she wasn't sure it had been right side up since she had met him. But she rather thought it would never find its way to rights. Just knowing him had messed up her equilibrium for life.

And, since it was a permanent condition, she figured that was why she was approaching the silent, empty figure in front of her with the intention of finding Jane inside of the shell. Much as she disliked him right now, much as she was angry with him, didn't trust him, she couldn't turn her back on him.

Damn it, she still considered him a friend. What the hell was wrong with her?

"Jane."

He didn't move, didn't even blink. She wondered if this was how he was during his breakdown after he had found his family. He seemed very much like someone in shock, but with no situation to warrant such a reaction. God, she wasn't a professional. She didn't know what to do with someone who was losing it or already had. She didn't know how to handle someone whose grasp on sanity was slipping.

She considered throwing in the towel and calling in said professionals, but then she remembered the quiet anguish in his voice when he confessed his shame at having a mental breakdown, at being hospitalized. She couldn't do that to him. Not without trying first to get through to him.

Her voice was louder and more forceful this time. "Jane."

There it was. He blinked, twitched a bit. Someone in there, he heard her. Slowly, as if with a wild animal, she reached out to hold his hand within hers. His skin was ice-cold against hers and she pulled his hand into her lap, rubbing it gently to circulate the blood. His fingers moved slightly, as if he wanted to hold onto her. She let go of his hand and stood, moving in front of him. She ran fingers through his blond hair, something she had briefly thought about every once in a while in the last year or so, but had never allowed herself to even come close to. She was not a touchy-feely person. This was probably the most she had ever touched Jane and she was sure it said something about her that she could only do it when he wasn't even conscious of her actions.

Firmly, she place a hand on each side of his face and directed his head up, locking her eyes with his. He blinked again and then suddenly the dam broke. He stood and began pacing, words pouring out of him in rapid succession. She caught only fragments.

"Why did he spare you? Why?"

Lisbon knew by the desperation in his voice that he was really asking: Why you and not my wife? Why not my child?

She wasn't offended. Grieving people often had these kinds of thoughts. And, honestly, it was valid. Why would Red John let _her_ live and not a six year old child?

"You were down. Shot. A drug bust. _A drug bust_."

His hands were on her shoulders and he shook her slightly. Surprisingly, she didn't feel fear or mistrust. She didn't see the cold, calculating Jane standing in front of her. The one who had threatened her. All she saw was a broken man who had nothing to hold onto. And he was slipping down a dangerous slope.

She didn't know if she could pull him back up. She now wondered if this was how he always looked. If she had been so distracted by the man behind the curtain that she hadn't realized that the specter in front of her may very well be a window to his soul. Sure, the man behind the curtain was coolly ruthless, but the one in front of her was lost. Like a child who didn't know better so, with single-minded determination, he pursued the path in front of him—a path that led him to the one thing he couldn't let go of. His wife, his child, and the one responsible for their murder.

Except Lisbon knew that he wasn't sure if that _one_, the one responsible for his family's deaths, was him or Red John.

He really thought they were alike.

And maybe they were. Maybe everyone was a little like Red John. No one was perfect. Humans were flawed.

But it was not how people were similar, but rather how they were _different_ that was significant.

And even if she couldn't quite explain what those differences were (not yet, anyway), she knew that they existed. Jane was different than Red John. The evidence was staring her in the face.

Sociopaths did not have breakdowns. They didn't feel enough to do so. They didn't feel. Period.

Jane felt.


	4. Flip

Parts of this may sound very Jisbon, but for now this is still a friendship piece. I honestly don't think it could go any further within this story. Anyway, the finale was relatively angst free, right? lol, I must have used up the majority of Jane darkness (though there was some in the episode)...I think this chapter was the hardest to write so far. Some Lisbon angst/past brought up here. Not sure how I feel about this chapter.

Chapter Four: Flip

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Senior Agent Thomas DeStrato hadn't been with the team for very long so he really didn't know what to make of the three agents blocking entrance to their office area. "You said Jane is in there?"

Van Pelt nodded. "Yes, sir."

DeStrato persisted. "And Agent Lisbon?"

Rigsby answered this time. "Yes, sir."

"And _why_ can't I enter?"

"They're busy." True to character, Cho's words were succinct. DeStrato nodded as if that answered everything before crossing his arms and allowing his ire to creep into his expression.

"That's very touching. But this is an office, not a motel where they can rent a room. Move aside, agents." His tone brooked no argument. Rigsby and Van Pelt looked anxiously to Cho, which only irritated DeStrato further. _He_ was their superior officer. _Not_ Cho. And not Lisbon. Cho, glancing at his watch to gauge how much time Jane and Lisbon had been in there, responded to his colleagues with a short nod. In tandem, the three of them stepped away from the door, allowing DeStrato to enter.

What he encountered was not what he expected. The impeccably put together Patrick Jane seemed frayed around the edges, pacing the small area in front of the couch. The petite woman nearby watched him, unable to decide whether she should give him space or push him. DeStrato cleared his throat and she turned to the newcomer.

She smiled gamely. "You must be Agent DeStrato."

He nodded, trying not to stare at the cuts on her cheek. "Yes. Agent Lisbon?"

She nodded this time and they shook hands. He liked her handshake—firm yet not too strong, as was the characteristic of many female agents overcompensating for being a woman. Looking to his consultant, he hesitated. There was something about him that was different. Not just the unpolished look he gave off, but something around his eyes. He looked a little...wild. Yes, that was it. "Uh, Jane? You okay?"

Jane laughed and DeStrato furrowed his brow. Was something funny? "Am I okay? Funny choice of words, DeStrato. Are any of us okay?"

Before Jane could continue, Lisbon stepped between the two men and cut in. "Um, if you don't mind, we're going to use your interrogation room."

DeStrato, feeling way out of his league, nodded. He had no idea how to deal with the man in front of him. This wasn't the charming, suave consultant he had met two weeks ago. The man in front of him was broken. He watched as they left. Unhinged, maybe. DeStrato felt uncomfortable. He was not a man who believed in multiple layers of a person. Layers that could be hidden away. No. In his experience, what you saw was what you got.

And it made him uncomfortable to think that he had assigned Jane a specific box, a specific personality, and now the man was not fitting into it. Troublesome. Maybe this team wasn't the best fit for him.

Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt watched as Lisbon gently prodded Jane toward the interrogation room. They were relieved to see that he was responding, speaking. He still looked a little...disconnected, maybe? Uninhibited? It was hard to describe, but basically he didn't look like Jane. At least he wasn't an empty shell any longer.

Cho knew that Lisbon would reach him. If anyone ever affected Jane in a way the pseudo-psychic hadn't anticipated, it was her. He was a little unhappy about having them in the same room together. After all, Jane had hurt her. Had betrayed her trust and thus that of the team. Cho didn't want Lisbon put through that shit again. Sure, she seemed tough and in control, but he had been working with her long enough to know that she was still affected. Especially by Jane. For some reason, they each had a hold over the other that they had never initiated. It had just happened. Rigsby and Van Pelt knew it. Cho knew it. He suspected that they themselves knew it, but tried to deny it.

So, even though Cho worried about Lisbon getting hurt (either emotionally or physically), he felt that Jane and Lisbon were very much like magnets. On one side, pushing violently away from one another. On the other side, gravitating uncontrollably to each other.

Cho thought that these last few weeks had been a period of push, during which Jane had increasingly spiraled out of control. Now, the magnets were flipping and nothing could keep them separate. The pull had started. Unerringly, Jane was seeking out Lisbon whether he knew it or not. Everyone knew that once magnets came together, they were stable. Still. Centered.

In a strange way, Lisbon centered Jane. Cho only hoped that she could do so now, today, without losing too much of herself.

**************************************************************************

She guided Jane to a chair, a bit surprised that he was so willingly acquiescing to her prompts. Instead of sitting across the table from him, she maneuvered two chairs to face one another, their knees about six inches apart. He had since fallen silent once more and she hoped that she wouldn't have to break him out of that catatonic shell again.

One glance at his face told her that he was very aware of where they were, who she was. He was watching her intently, waiting for her to initiate the talk. She put her elbows on her knees and rested her chin on her hands, staring at the floor to gather her thoughts.

He continued to watch her unabashedly. He wondered if she would do the typical 'intervention' speech. Talk about how he needed help (professional help), how he was a danger to himself and others. So on and so forth. He was expecting it, but he didn't want it. Not from her. There was already so much disappointment between them. He didn't want to disappoint her again, though he was pretty sure it was inevitable.

He was surprised that, after being in her presence for a mere fifteen minutes or so, he already felt calmer. All those doctors, that sterile institution, the meds. They couldn't do in months what Lisbon accomplished in less than an hour. So he didn't feel normal—well, if normal was what he had been before his family's murder. He didn't think that would ever happen so he didn't hold it against her. But around Lisbon, he felt tethered.

The world was returning to him. All the lovely details. The black tunnel was no more. The claustrophobia had lifted. Actually, he couldn't really remember what had set him off, but he was pretty sure it had something to do with Lisbon's drug bust. He supposed that it shouldn't be a shock, therefore, that it was Lisbon who brought him back to the bright, colorful worlds outside of the dank tunnel.

He was still musing over these thoughts when Lisbon began to speak, face still turned to the floor.

"My mother was killed by a drunk driver."

He was a little startled by her abrupt statement. It was so personal. Not like Lisbon, who shut herself off from everyone. He had known about her mother—really, a mentalist didn't work with someone for years without learning some of the basics—but she had not once mentioned it to him. Not in passing, not directly. Never.

He knew their relationship wasn't what it had been, but he couldn't help feeling pleased that she would share this with him. He knew she didn't quite do it willingly, at least not eagerly. He knew that she had an ulterior motive and wondered what kind of lesson she was trying to teach him with this story.

He let that cynical thought go and just listened, letting himself enjoy her presence. He had missed just being around her.

"After that, my father became an alcoholic. When he drank, he was someone different. It was like we had lost two parents."

For a moment, Lisbon felt like a young teenager again, reliving her experiences with the man who had once been her father.

"At first, it wasn't so often. When he was sober, he was wonderful. A loving father who knew just how to comfort his grieving children."

She rubbed at her temples, still avoiding Jane's gaze. It was as if she were talking to herself rather than confessing to someone else her sordid past, her little secret that she held inside. "But days turned into weeks then months. And he drank more and more until we couldn't recognize him anymore. Money disappeared. We barely made rent. I had to hide and lie and scrounge to get my brothers fed and through school."

She laughed bitterly and Jane remembered the brittle sound of it that day in her office, when she told him she was leaving the team, leaving the case.

"Soon, the only thing that mattered to him was the drink and he was never sober. Never. And I hated him. More than I hated the man who killed my mother with his carelessness. More than anything, I hated this man who could pretend to be such a good man, a good father, but would fall apart so easily and throw his children to the wolves."

Jane suddenly saw the parallels and really, truly wished that life was different. That things were different. He did not want to be lumped with Lisbon's father. But he didn't think he could change. He had nothing left. Only revenge. He didn't even have himself. He couldn't see himself anymore. He wondered if that was why he got along so well with Lisbon and her team. For some reason, they seemed to see him. To really _see_ him, even his flaws—though they might not have realized the extent of them until recently.

"We missed her, too, but he didn't see our pain."

Jane wondered about his in-laws. He hadn't seen them since the funeral. They had been upset and so had he. He hadn't known what to say, what to do. So he had made his vow to himself, to his wife's parents. He wondered if they blamed him.

"He began to steal from me, from the money stash that was keeping us kids alive. It became a sick sort of battle of wits. Who could outplay the other? For him, the stakes were getting his next fix. For me, it was a matter of what to feed my brothers for dinner. Pretty ridiculous, huh? Our own father was more worried about his next hit of alcohol than if we were getting enough to eat."

Jane found himself drifting away from his problems and really focusing on her words. He could picture a young Lisbon, squaring off against a well-built man. A showdown. The stubborn set of her jaw.

"Eventually, he found that if he resorted to violence he would be able to incapacitate me enough for him to do a sweep of the rooms." Jane's hands tightened into fists at the image of Lisbon as a battered child. "Thank God my brothers were sensible enough to do as I said. They were kept safe that way. But I always worried, always wondered if he would turn to them next."

"And so one day, I bought a gun off the streets and very carefully planned to kill my father."

Nothing could have prepared Jane for that statement. She held her hands out in front of her, fingers spread, contemplating them as if imagining them stained with blood. "In my bitterness, he had become this uncontrollable monster—responsible for more than he could fairly be held accountable for. At some points, I even blamed him for my mother's death."

"When I held the gun to his head, he sobbed like a child. He just cried and cried—in the way that I had wanted to for years, but never could. How ironic that he picked that day to be sober. The first sober day in over eighteen months and it was the day his own daughter had chosen to murder him."

She fell silent, remembering what she had tried so hard to forget. Jane swallowed, his throat inexplicable dry. "Did you—did you do it?"

She leaned back, gaze redirected to the ceiling. Mutely, she shook her head and Jane felt an unsteady breath escape him.

"No. I couldn't. I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Not because he was my father. He was nothing like the man who had once been that and I don't ever think of _him_ as my father. And it wasn't because he didn't deserve it. Anyone who could do to their own child what he did deserves all manner of awful things."

Jane wanted to ask what the reason was. Why did she stop herself? But he remained silent. Finally, she answered his unspoken question.

"I looked into his face and remembered other kids at school, hiding bruises. The kids lost to drugs. The sexual assault and manipulation of power—even in my own school. The murders and wars on TV. Killing this one man wasn't going to fix all of that. It wasn't even going to help my own life or that of my brothers. Once the moment of satisfaction was had, they would drag me off and that would be it. The end. Nothing would have changed, really. And maybe he would have won anyway. I would rot away in a cell and not live my life."

Jane felt his breath catch and his throat was unbelievably constricted. Her emerald eyes turned to his face, finally meeting his stare. "That is why I work for the CBI. I want to get revenge in a way that will _do_ something. Every case closed, every person locked away is my way of trying to change things. Trying to prevent people from being the victims. Like my mother and your family. Like I was. Like you are."

His eyes felt wet and he thought it was stupid that he would be ashamed of that, of crying in front of Lisbon, when she had already seen him stray from reality, unmoored from sanity. "You're a better person than I am, Lisbon."

She watched him as if she were assessing his moral fiber. Swallowing almost audibly, he remembered Red John's letter and the bold statement that they were similar. Is that what she saw when she looked at him? The same criminal characteristics that the killers they hunted down displayed. He had never been bothered before by thinking about other's thoughts on him. He wondered why he couldn't disconnect himself from Lisbon's opinion. Why, even now, even after he had destroyed her trust in him, did she matter so much to him?

She smiled a bit, a sad smile. He noticed that her eyes had thawed. No longer did they look at him coldly. Reserved, yes. But they were not frigid. "I think you're wrong about that, Jane."

"We're not so different, you and I."

And, looking into her face, he could almost convince himself to believe her words and forget Red John's.

If Cho were in the small room with them, he would likely say the word out loud. Things had changed from push to pull.

Flip.


	5. Priorities

Sorry about the insane delay!! Wow, I can't believe how long it's been. By the way, the magnet thing from the previous chapter was inspired by the movie _The Cutting Edge_. Now, keep in mind that this is an alternate way that the season finale could have gone. Maybe just two or three more parts (which have not been written, but I will not let so much time lapse before another update. Sorry again!).

Chapter Five: Priorities

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The air in the room seemed to calm and suddenly Lisbon felt self-conscious. Now that she had figuratively talked Jane down from the ledge, brought him back to the land of the living, she felt a little lost. Jane watched as she shifted in her chair and could see that, in a matter of moments, she would retreat from the room, from him.

He wondered if he deserved to feel upset at that.

She stood and he felt an urgency well inside. "Lisbon."

She froze, fighting the urge to shuffle her feet. As she looked at him expectantly, she cursed herself once more for feeling concern. Why was it that she couldn't convince herself that Patrick Jane was not someone she should be worrying about?

Jane didn't know what to say. He only knew that, for some reason, he didn't want her to go. Which was stupid, since his actions were what had precipitated her absence. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He opened his mouth again, not sure what was going to come out.

"Lisbon. Another letter just arrived for you."

Cho's voice broke into the tense atmosphere that surrounded Lisbon and Jane. Lisbon's gaze connected with his own before she followed Cho down the hall to the bullpen. Strangely, she felt relieved to have been granted respite from more of a serious talk with Jane. She had just shared a large piece of her past with the man who had left her vulnerable to a serial killer. She wondered what that said about her personality.

If she were honest with herself, she could admit that she had been disappointed, but not really upset with Jane. She knew better than anyone else what was keeping him going. She knew the coldness that was beneath his often glib surface. She had made the stupid mistake of imagining that her feelings were somehow mirrored in him.

To her, the team was as much family as her two brothers. Even Jane. She would protect them with everything she had. She would watch over them, guide them, keep them out of trouble. Like she had for her brothers.

But Jane didn't want any of that. He didn't want her protection, her interference, her guidance. He wanted her to do her job, but stay out of his way when it came to Red John. Actually, she could finally admit to herself, Jane didn't really want her to be a part of his personal life at all. She could see that clearly now. He was just so personable that it was easy to misread the situation. Eventually, anyone acquainted with Jane would land in a relationship where he knew the person pretty much inside out and they knew only his surface.

She had been privileged (if that was the word) to glimpses beneath. It was her own fault for not heeding these glimpses. For suppressing her cop instincts and letting him in, making him family.

God, even the family she _chose_ let her down. Entering the bullpen behind Cho, she saw Rigsby and Van Pelt hovering over Jane's desk which, as usual, had a pristine and empty surface.

Save for the shining white of a piece of paper laid on it.

She felt rather than heard Jane's presence behind her as she approached the letter. The room was still. She had the idle thought that she should be including Agent DeStrato, which prompted the similarly absentminded question of where the agent was at the moment. Her distraction did not last long. She was now sandwiched protectively between Cho and Van Pelt as she leaned over the letter.

_My Dear Agent Lisbon,_

_I know it has been only hours since my last message, but I find that you consume my thoughts more than any other. There is nothing quite like a woman in red and I have a feeling that you would look lovely in that color...your pale skin, your dark hair. Yes, just lovely._

_I am almost ready to play, my little pawn. I would ask you to invite Mr. Jane, but I know that nothing could keep him away so an invitation is really unnecessary. As Mr. Jane is certainly not a white knight, I will make the first move._

_Here is a list of addresses. If you are half as clever as I hope you are, you should know what to do next. I'm sure you won't disappoint. After all, there is much fun to be had._

_Red John_

Lisbon turned and took a few steps away, ending up in front of Cho's desk as Jane silently read the letter. She was surprised he had been patient enough for her to read it first anyway.

"Boss?"

For a moment, Cho's words brought them all back a month. Back to when they were a team, a family. Back to when Jane would cheerfully irritate Lisbon and she would grumble and glower, but they all knew that there was an underlying affection. Back to when Van Pelt could see only good in each of her team mates. Back when Cho felt as if he could relate to Jane and so felt as if he would always have the consultant's back. Back when Rigsby was bewildered by Jane and slightly terrified of Lisbon, but nonetheless felt as if there was no one else he'd rather work with.

Instinctively, they all grasped that feeling. Even Jane. Finally, he knew what his actions had really cost him and, for once, he wasn't sure if it had been worth it.

His betrayal had cost him his second family. And he knew that he had run out of chances.

Lisbon broke the fragile spell that had fallen. "Not your boss anymore, Cho. You should find Agent DeStrato and see what his POA is."

"Not going to happen."

The team turned to the doorway to find Minelli watching them carefully. "DeStrato decided to transfer out. Seems like this team is going through Senior Agents rather quickly in the last few weeks."

Rigsby shuffled his feet and looked down, avoiding eye contact. Van Pelt blushed very lightly. Cho's expression remained unchanged. Perhaps they could have been a bit more welcoming...

It was just—well, DeStrato hadn't been Lisbon. They had all had various team leaders or bosses throughout their careers, but they could recognize that there was something about Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon. Something undefinable, but still there. In fact, the same could almost be said about Jane. Different characteristic, same description.

Jane maintained eye contact with Minelli, who sighed.

"Look, Lisbon. I don't have time to get another agent on the case. I understand that you may have reservations working on this team due to the..." Minelli hesitated, eyes flitting briefly to Jane. "...delicate situation you found yourself in, but would you feel okay with taking temporary control?"

Jane had never truly believed in paranormal mental activity. Psychic, mind meld, whatever you wanted to call it. But at this moment, he was focusing every fiber of his being on getting Lisbon to agree. He needed her here. Selfish, maybe, but true. He knew he'd have to find a way to work through his problems, to figure out his priorities.

But that could come later. First things first.

_Say yes. Say yes. Say yes._

"Yes."

Jane blinked, wondering for a moment about coincidence and probability of paranormal powers. He felt the combined relief and wariness of the team around him. Dismissing silly thoughts, he watched his ex-boss—well, he supposed she was his boss again. Of course Lisbon agreed. How like her, actually.

"But only until you can find someone else."

Jane wondered if he could figure his life out in that amount of time. If so, maybe he would have to change that. He wasn't so sure anymore that he could have a life without Lisbon's friendship. Or at least her presence.

But he still wasn't sure that he wouldn't do the exact same thing to her once more if he had the chance to get Red John.


	6. Communique

Sorry it has once more taken so long. I really want this story to be over, but of course I must follow where it leads. Sigh. Hopefully there will only be another chapter or so to this one. I have other stories I'd like to get to before I leave for Japan in August. I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

Lol, small tribute to a song I love (Vida Mas Simple by Nil Lara—listen to it; it's nice!). Also, I did not re-read so if you see any mistakes, please let me know! Thanks!

Chapter Six: Communiqué

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Cho sat in his chair, twirling a pencil between his fingers and staring at the same pencil with an almost unnerving intensity.

Van Pelt was doing what she did best—surfing the databases on her PC.

Rigsby was working his way through an entire package of Oreos as he stared blankly at the papers in front of him.

Jane lay on his back on the couch, hands clasped on top of his stomach and eyes open, but unseeing, focused on the high ceiling above.

Lisbon was standing, facing the dry erase board that had the addresses scrawled on its surface.

Each of them was striving to figure out Red John's clue. They wanted this guy. Different reasons, different ways, but they all wanted him.

Jane sat up and Rigsby's eyes looked at him briefly before returning to the scattered papers on his desk and popping another Oreo. Van Pelt didn't waver from her concentration on the computer. Cho didn't falter in his manipulation of the pencil nor his intense stare. Lisbon didn't react, but something about her demeanor altered. A sort of charge in the air coming from her. At least, that's how Jane would describe it if he believed in things like auras and the like. Which he didn't.

"The numbers."

The team started at Lisbon's words. Jane stood, silent but watchful. Van Pelt's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about, boss?"

"The numbers of the addresses." Before she could continue, Rigsby jumped in.

"I could go to each location and see if there are other clues to piece together," he said earnestly, eagerly. He hated sitting here, waiting. He was a man of action and he was more than ready for some.

Lisbon shook her head, mulling something over. Jane took a step toward her, drawn almost as a moth to the light. Van Pelt answered for her. "No. They aren't real addresses. At least the first four or so aren't. Purely fictional."

Cho set his pencil down and leaned forward, intrigued. Lisbon moved closer to the board, pointing to each of the addresses. "The names of the streets. Look at them."

Even now, Jane found that Lisbon could surprise him. He smiled, delighted by her. "Well done, Lisbon."

Rigsby frowned. "Wanna fill us in, guys?"

Cho answered. "They each have something to do with one of his murders. Not his recent ones, but his early homicides. Before Ja—well, before."

There was a slightly uncomfortable atmosphere as they all finished Cho's original sentence in their heads. Before Jane's family was murdered.

Rigsby looked once more at the board and searched through the papers on his desk, his expression turning to one of surprise. "You're right."

Jane stared at the text on the dry erase board, now next to Lisbon. Normally, he would have made it a point to invade her personal space to a slight degree, to casually brush against her arm, her shoulder. Not now. No reason to make her more skittish. Not when he wanted the exact opposite. The words on the board jumped out at him.

Cherryfield Road; a victim whose family had owned a cherry orchard.

Lucille Street; the middle name of yet another victim.

Vida Avenue; from a tattoo (_Vida Mas Simple_) across the small of a victim's back.

Woodstock; a victim who had been obsessed with Woodstock and had posters all over her room, the crime scene.

And so on…

Little things. Not obvious and only known to someone who knew these cases inside and out. Someone who had read every detail of the files, memorized every nuance of a photograph, listened to hours of taped interviews. Like Jane had.

And, apparently, like Lisbon had. He looked at her with fresh eyes, as he always did when he discovered something new about her, something unknown.

She was invested in this case to an abnormal degree. Sure, she was always out for justice and did her damnedest to make sure every case got it, but this was different. To memorize something as small as a single word from a victim's tattoo—a victim of a man who had killed so many. Especially when she had countless cases to investigate, to remember.

She had taken the time to thoroughly invest herself in the Red John case. Or cases, as it were. Jane had never felt resentment, really, but he had always thought that he was the only one who truly wanted Red John. Wanted the bastard to the extent that he would pore over the files. That he would lie on the couch and imagine what it would be like to cut his nemesis open, to finally free himself of the villain with a swipe of a knife.

Well. It seemed that while Jane was fantasizing about revenge, Lisbon had been doing some work of her own.

He wondered why she would try so hard. Not that she didn't work tirelessly at any case she received, but to know a case like she knew this. It surprised him that someone besides him could be so focused on putting Red John away.

Why?

Before the question could bounce around his head for long, he had his answer. Of course. Lisbon was loyal. Jane had always suspected that Cho was the most loyal person he knew. After all, Cho was the one who had kept Jane in the loop during that copycat killing. But suddenly he felt as if blinders had been removed. Lisbon was just as loyal, in a different way.

She showed her care in a different way. In the only way she knew how. In doing what she was best at—working.

While Jane was reeling from this, Rigsby spoke once more. "What were you saying about the numbers?"

Lisbon grabbed a dry erase pen and started copying the numbers in a single, trailing line across the bottom of the board. She ignored the second line of the addresses, realizing that zip codes were simply dressing for the informant. It was the numbers paired with the streets which were important. "The addresses are fictional. The street names were simply a clue so we could figure out their falseness. Why use addresses? Why not something else? Because the names point out the clue and the clue is the other part. The numbers."

Jane nodded, getting excited. He grabbed another dry erase pen and began writing under the line of numbers as Lisbon continued to copy. The other three watched, bewildered, seeing the almost seamless way their boss and consultant were working together.

Beneath the numbers, Jane wrote corresponding letters. Strangely, he seemed to instinctively know when something like 15 was an O and when it was an AE. Lisbon finished copying and stepped back to read what Jane was transcribing.

_Ready to finish this game and find the victor? Your move._

"I don't understand. If it's your move, what are you supposed to do?" Van Pelt asked, rubbing lightly at her temples.

Lisbon pursed her lips, thinking. Jane watched her knowingly.

"Boss, you missed an address. The last one."

"No, Rigsby. That's a different part of the clue. A real address. My next move," Lisbon answered.

"How do you know?" The large man questioned. Cho, quiet until now, spoke.

"The name of the street. Hampshire. Only thing that has to do with Hampshire and Red John is Dr. Joe from New Hampshire. Lisbon's 'old friend.'" Cho had picked up the pencil again, but rather than twirling it through his fingers, he was gripping it tightly. Jane was surprised it hadn't snapped in two yet. "Look it up, Van Pelt. I bet you'll find it's real."

"Indeed it is. I'm surprised I didn't see it all earlier." Jane stared at the board, musing. "In my defense, it was a bit complex."

Rigsby rolled his eyes. What took Jane and Lisbon merely a half hour to figure out would have taken him over a week—if he _ever_ figured it out, that was.

Lisbon didn't spare the pseudo-psychic a glance. "Van Pelt, find the building and schematics of it. Cho, we need a team to surround the building once I've gone in."

"You mean, once _we've_ gone in," Jane chimed in. She turned to him and the entire team flashed back to the beginning of the end.

"_You try to stand in my way, you will regret it."_

"_Are you threatening me?"_

The two stared at one another as Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt held their breaths. Lisbon grudgingly gave a short nod, knowing that he would try to get in on it anyway. If she left him to his own devices, he could jeopardize the entire op. Inwardly, she smiled wryly at her thoughts. Ironic. If she brought him, he could (and likely would) jeopardize her safety.

Ah, well. She had always put ops above her safety and that wasn't about to change now.


	7. Choices

Look! A quick update! Probably one or two chapters after this. Whew! Thanks for the encouraging reviews—they really help. And thanks to Kathi-Ann for all of her support and opinions!

Chapter Seven: Choices

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They entered the building slowly, carefully. Jane's eyes roamed almost frantically, but his movements were just as fluid as normal. Lisbon, for her part, was more tense than normal. Jane noticed that her taser was clipped to her belt in the front, where she would easily notice it being lifted.

If it weren't for the fact that he had ruined what was between them, he would almost laugh at her newfound suspiciousness. He had also noticed that she was very careful not to fully turn her back on him. The cleared the first floor of the abandoned building and headed up. Jane tried not to think about how similar this building was to the first one, to the building where he had betrayed and lost Lisbon.

Sure, she was alive. But not for him. No thanks to him.

As they cleared the second level, he felt his blood begin to pulse with adrenaline. Maybe he could finally put his demons to rest, finally rid the world of the scum that was Red John.

He hoped that Lisbon would be okay.

Another half hour and they only had two more floors to go. Jane knew that there was a trained team around the building. Something about that thought ate at his mind. There was something he was missing…

Lisbon gestured him up onto the last floor of the building before the roof. She was wavering between relief and disappointment. She really wanted to get Red John, but she knew—better than anyone—that once they did, the problems were just beginning. She'd have to turn on Jane. And, even though that's exactly what he had done to her, she wasn't sure she could.

But she would. She just didn't know what kind of person she would be after, how much of her would remain. She didn't know if she could let another member of her family slip away again.

She stifled a sigh as they reached the end of the floor.

Alcohol and serial killers. The bane of her existence.

She felt Jane stiffen next to her and glanced at him. He was staring down the last hall that led to the stairs of the roof. She reluctantly followed his gaze. A single sheaf of paper fluttered on the door. She turned back to her consultant—no, not _hers_. He worked for no one but himself—and grasped his arm tightly with one hand, her gun with her other.

She spoke low, urgently. "Jane. Listen to me. I am going to check it out first. Let me make sure it's safe first. I don't want to have to handcuff you to this door next to us."

She gestured to the door behind him. She could tell he wanted to protest so she rushed ahead. "Please."

Rarely did Agent Teresa Lisbon plead. Surprisingly, Jane found himself nodding. He owed her that much. More, actually. But he wasn't sure he would ever pay her back what she had given him, wasn't sure he could or that he would allow himself to.

She searched his face before nodding back. For the first time since they entered the building, she turned her back on the blond man and stealthily made her way down the hall.

Jane realized the last time he had fully seen her back had been right before he had knocked her out. Was she trying to tell him something?

She paused at the end of the hall and he knew she was skimming the note. He saw her body jerk and expected her to turn around, give him the go-ahead. Instead, she slammed through the door, going forward. His brow furrowed. She seemed almost panicked, rushed. He moved forward. He had let her go first, but something was off. He reached the door and his eyes read the note with a speed he hadn't known possible. He picked out the words that Lisbon must have seen:

_I found us another pawn. I wonder if she will last until you make your move. Hmm?_

He hurried up the stairs after Lisbon. Bursting out onto the roof, he spun around, searching for her. "Lisbon!"

"Over here, Jane!"

He turned and saw her dragging a two-by-four to the edge of the building. He was confused for a moment before he realized what had been bothering him since the note.

Red John had not asked for them to come alone. He didn't care if they brought the calvary. Because he was not here, surrounded by said calvary.

At least not in this building.

He hurried toward Lisbon. On the roof of the nearby building was a bound woman, looking terrified. Another figure stood in the shadows.

Red John.

With a strength that belied her small stature, Lisbon hefted the wood planks up and laid them as a makeshift bridge combining the two structures. A laugh rang through the air, taunting and familiar.

The same laugh that had drifted over the phone to Jane when he had lost his connection, when Renfrew had been murdered.

Jane jumped up onto the boards. Lisbon saw him move and she turned to grab her gun before following. Jane, heedless of his own mortality, made it across much faster than she. Lisbon knew that she had to be careful. She couldn't risk her own life as Jane had his. If she died, no one would be thinking of the girl. Jane would be after revenge and Red John obviously cared for no one's well fare.

It was Lisbon's responsibility, her _job_, to save the girl. As Jane neared, a hand reached from the shadows and dragged the girl back. The white of the hostage's shirt shone even in the darkness of the shadows. Lisbon froze. "Jane! Stop. Now."

She was shocked when her words seemed to make it through. Jane stopped in his tracks. Maybe, somewhere in there, Jane realized that he couldn't just let innocent bystanders be murdered for his revenge. Lisbon supposed it was different when it was possible it may occur directly in front of him.

Maybe.

"Who are you?" The words came from Jane, but his voice seemed to be someone else. Someone harsh, gravelly. Cold. Unfeeling.

Another laugh. "What are you going to do, Mr. Jane? Go through this poor girl?"

Light glistened from the silver of a blade that caressed the girl's throat. The girl trembled visibly, obviously trying to hold back sobs. The gag helped in that respect. Jane's hands clenched and unclenched at his side, but he didn't answer. Lisbon moved forward slowly.

"Shall we rid ourselves of the pawns and get to it, do you think?" Before Jane or Lisbon could say anything, the girl jerked in his arms. Lisbon saw the bloodied tip of the knife emerge from her side and knew that Red John had knifed her from behind. As the girl began to fall from the killer's arms, Lisbon started forward, raising her gun. Jane began to move toward his enemy, ready to tear him apart with his bare hands now that nothing stood in his way.

Lisbon saw the gun just a moment before it went off and she lurched to the side to avoid the oncoming bullet. Unfortunately, her sudden movement caused her loss of balance and, as the wood slid from the ledge of the building on its descent to the pavement below, she dove for the edge, hooking an elbow over it. One arm held her weight while the other dangled below at her side, gripping her gun.

At the sound of a gunshot, Jane had frozen. Now, he looked in horror at Lisbon, clearly torn. Red John was moving away from him, backing up slowly. Lisbon felt her grip loosen for a moment before she tightened it. If sheer force of will could keep her up here, then there was no way she was falling.

Only trouble was, lately her force of will hadn't been much of a force at all. Couldn't keep Jane from throwing his life away. Couldn't keep her from caring too much.

Jane felt his world crashing in on him. On one side, the murderer of his family, the man he had hunted for years, his reason for living. On the other, the one person who had tried to save him was dangling over her death.

Could he leave her to it? Just how badly did he want Red John?

He looked into her green eyes, remembering the way they sparked when she was mad, the way they softened when she was content, turned to green ice when she was stubborn, sparkled when she was playful. Now, though, he saw an expression he had never expected.

She knew she was going to die and she had accepted it. Had accepted that he would leave her there to die.

What did he expect after the way he had acted?

He didn't see anger or betrayal in her face. She was resigned to her fate and didn't blame him.

Red John watched the two and turned his back to them to hurry away. Patrick Jane was an idiot, but contrary to the words he had used to taunt the miserable worm, the psychic was too soft to leave her.

This wasn't quite the way he had planned it. He wanted Lisbon dead, but at his hands. He wanted to torment Jane with her death before killing the psychic himself. Eh, well, it had become a bit messy. That's what happens when you stray from your system. Maybe if he was lucky, Lisbon would fall to her death and take the irritating Patrick Jane over the edge with her…

Lisbon waited for Jane to turn away, to hurry after Red John. She looked away and saw Red John turn his back and begin to leave in earnest. She looked back to Jane to tell him to hurry and saw him hurrying toward her. She was sure her confusion shown on her face and for a moment she saw a flash of hurt in his eyes.

He was going to save her?

Why?

She didn't want to die. She had a lot left to do with her life. But she didn't know if she could be the reason Jane missed his chance to live his own life, to move on, move forward. With a Herculean effort she raised her other hand, feeling the cement of the building dig into her arm, bruising her. She aimed her gun as steadily as her shaking arm would allow.

Jane was still five feet away. As the gun went off, the slight kickback loosened her grasp and she felt the concrete wall scraping at her skin as she started to slide. She glimpsed Jane's panicked face before the world was tilting and her hand skidded across the surface of the building, unable to find purchase.

Everything seemed to happen so fast and yet time seemed to drag on.

Jane made a last desperate dive to the edge, frantic. He couldn't lose her completely. He may have to live without her in his life, but the world needed someone like Teresa Lisbon.

He needed to know that she was still out there somewhere.

He couldn't lose her to death, to his own darkness, _because_ of his darkness.

He reached, hands grasping. He had chosen.

He needed her to live so that she would know that, when it came down to it, he chose her.


	8. Precious

Okay, there may be a sequel. Not sure. I admit that I left the Red John thing dangling because at this point in time, I just feel that it wouldn't be resolved too easily. And the focus of this fic has always been the friendship between Jane and Lisbon. Also, my account is doing something strange and I'm not getting review alerts. I try to check and respond, but then I get confused and am not sure who I've responded to. So…this is a group thank you for all of the wonderful reviews and I hope you all enjoy this last chapter.

Chapter Eight: Precious

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As their fingers brushed, Jane thought he was too late and he was almost positive that his heart stopped. But, in a moment that could be classified as a miracle if he believed in them, his hand stretched that extra inch or so and suddenly he was clinging to Lisbon. There was a heavy jerk as his body recognized the extra weight.

Though his shoulder cried out from the strain (and he was sure that Lisbon's shoulder was damaged, if not dislocated from the jarring stop of her fall), he clenched his jaw and hauled her up, using a strength he didn't think he had.

Adrenaline did wondrous things. So did panic. Put the two together and even Patrick Jane, out of shape as he was, could perform feats of strength.

In his final feat, he pulled Lisbon to safety on the roof—with her help, of course. As she sat on the cement, head ducked between her legs as she waited for her trembling to slow (she would adamantly argue: adrenaline, _not_ fear), Jane collapsed next to her. He was shaking almost as if he had been the one to dangle from the roof, muscles tense and strained from supporting their own weight. He couldn't help himself and, fumbling, he pulled Lisbon to him. He felt her jerk in surprise, but he couldn't help it.

His world had shrunk in the last sixty seconds. Down to this small body encircled in his arms. Down to the single person who anchored him, who supported him, who truly cared for him despite knowing most of his dirty little secrets. Despite the fact that he had betrayed her. She shifted and his hold tightened minutely.

"Jane." Her voice was firm and his arms loosened, allowing her to pull back. She glanced at his face, expression simultaneously searching and confused. She was surprised to see the intensity of his eyes. Intensity normally reserved for his grand statements about revenge and the evils of murderers. She wanted to question it, but she knew this wasn't the time. And, to be honest, she had no idea of what she would say.

She stood and scanned the roof. Red John was gone. She sighed in disappointment. Damn. She had hoped she would hit him. Sure, it had been a last ditch effort, but still…

Turning, she rushed to the girl. She made out a faint pulse and used her hands to attempt to staunch the bleeding, ignoring the twinge of pain in her shoulder. Interesting…Red John didn't normally leave survivors. Clearly, this girl was in actuality a pawn. Not really important. Even so, Lisbon knew that this showdown on the roof hadn't quite gone the way the serial killer had expected. Because if it had, the girl would be dead and likely Lisbon as well. Maybe Jane, but only after he had watched the deaths of the innocent, only after he had been made to feel as if it too were his fault.

"Jane, call Cho and have him send the EMTs in." Lisbon turned her head to make sure that Jane was following her order rather than pursuing the direction Red John had disappeared. She was once more surprised to find him only a foot or two away. Silently, he pulled out his cell phone, but didn't move from her side.

The ground team had seen what had happened with Lisbon and had already sent agents in to clear the building floor by floor. They would be there within minutes. Lisbon hoped to God that this girl had minutes.

When the EMTs burst onto the scene, the girl was still alive. In a flurry, they carted her down to the ambulance. Lisbon, having backed off to make room for them, looked down to her hands, bathed in blood. She shuddered internally and held on tight to her hope for the girl's survival. Lisbon idly wondered if she had been picked off the street at random or if the choice was deliberate. Perhaps a small slight to Red John and, being irked, he had decided to take out his anger on her and find a way to torture both Lisbon and Jane. A hand on her shoulder made her turn, expecting Cho. It was Jane.

She still didn't know what to say to him and she welcomed the interruption when Van Pelt approached with wet wipes and paper towel. Attempting to clean her hands, Lisbon's eyes catalogued the actions of everyone on the roof. She saw Cho and Rigsby examining something on the far side, surrounded by a crew that was keeping a perimeter around them. Though curious, she knew Cho would let her know what was up when he was ready.

Sure enough, in minutes Cho was standing in front of her.

"Drops of blood, boss. Looks like you hit the son of a bitch."

Rigsby grinned, happy that the bastard serial killer had gotten a small taste of what he deserved. He sobered and picked up from Cho's statement. "This block is like a labyrinth, though. Easy enough to go from rooftop to rooftop if you've planned it. We hadn't sectioned off the whole block, just the building next door."

Jane broke his silence. "He got away."

Though she couldn't hear any maliciousness in his voice, Lisbon flinched. She knew that Red John was gone because he had helped her, had saved her. Logically, she knew that both she and Jane would probably be dead if he had gone after Red John. Jane had been unarmed and Red John had the advantage (she _really_ disliked describing it that way) of having killed many times before. He was experienced. He was professional. Jane wouldn't have had a chance.

"But we have his blood sample. We can run DNA tests. If he's in the system, we got him," Van Pelt eagerly pointed out. Lisbon watched Jane's unchanging expression.

"Van Pelt's right. Cho, Rigsby, photograph the scene and have forensics sweep the roof. Van Pelt, get everyone who isn't necessary out of here. We need those blood samples bagged, too. Make sure every 't' is crossed and every 'i' is—"

"Dotted," Rigsby and Cho finished. Lisbon grinned at them, happy to be back with her team.

"You got it."

They ambled off to do her bidding and she turned back to the consultant. She opened her mouth, but he cut in.

"You need to get your shoulder looked at. And your arms. They're pretty scraped up." He reached forward to put a gentle hand on her back to guide her toward the stairwell, but froze midair as if just remembering that they were no longer on familiar terms. His hand dropped and he stood before her. If it wasn't Jane, it would almost be awkward. She gave a tentative smile.

"Thank you for helping me. After—well, I know that it wasn't quite on your agenda and I appreciate it." She thought her words were firm, sincere.

He laughed, a little self-deprecatingly. "You sound so formal. It wasn't help, Lisbon. It was your _life_."

She didn't know how to respond. He slipped his hands into his pockets.

"I know that I left you hanging before. That you don't trust me. That you probably loath me at this point." He looked away from her to the sky that was bright blue. He thought that it should be murky, disturbed by dark clouds. How was it that he could feel so unsettled, so eaten away by darkness inside and the sky could be unaffected? How could the world be so bright blue when he felt as if he was sinking lower and lower, consumed by the red of hatred and death? "Today, it was your life."

He forced himself to look back to her, to take in the fading mark of Red John on her cheek. "And I realized just how precious that was."

She looked at his eyes and wondered if he was regretting what he had indirectly (in a way) done to her. "I'm glad. Life is precious, Jane. I'm glad you chose life."

He shook his head. "No. You misunderstand me. I chose _your_ life. Your life is precious."

Awareness crackled between them, indefinable but strong. She nodded solemnly. It wasn't exactly what she wanted to hear, but she thought maybe it was a step forward, a step toward the better. She thought maybe she could trust him to have her back. She reached out and laid a hand against his arm, giving it a brief squeeze before pulling back. "Thank you."

And in that moment, it felt like something broken came back together. Still marred with a crack, but nonetheless whole once more. Maybe they weren't fixed, but somehow the world felt a little more normal. A little more stable.

She turned away and headed to the stairwell, sure that he would follow her and nosily sit in on her check-up. She searched her feelings and found that she wasn't suspicious. Her anger had diminished.

Jane watched her back. He had always loved that he could bring out her expressiveness—one of the many reasons he needled her. To get a rise. But, today, right now…well, he thought that the view of her back was one of the best things he'd seen in a long time.

Not because she was alive, though that definitely contributed to it.

But because she trusted him again. Even if just a little, she trusted him enough to show him her back.

As he left the roof, he searched his feelings and found that he didn't have any regret about his actions in the last hour. He didn't feel like he had betrayed his family. He had saved Teresa Lisbon for the world. For himself.

And he didn't think he could ever regret that.


End file.
